A writer writes what she knows from her life, her own experiences. She writes with passion and honesty.
If she gets it right she hopes she will connect with even one reader.
She is grateful when she does. It is remarkable that our lives can intersect so profoundly with people we have never even met.
This week I had this note from a reader. I am grateful that I got it right and grateful that she let me know. Lovely that she contacted me during this season of Thanks.
This little book out of print and still brings joy to readers and to me.
–>
I have always wondered what your experiences were that inspired you to write “When Africa Was Home.” When curiosity finally led me to stumble across your website and bio, I felt like I should share with you how much your book has meant to me and my family.
My parents were missionaries in a remote area of Papua New Guinea. My sisters and I all grew up there and it was and is still our home. My mom tells us that when she first read a worn and tattered copy of your book one night in a missionary guest house, she finally understood what it was like for us kids. Every time that we went to visit America her and my Dad were going to their home, but we were leaving ours.
Ever since then your book has been a cherished book in our house. My sisters and I read it over and over again as children because it was the only book that told the story of our lives. Every experience that Peter had, we had. I remember my mom telling us about how we had to wear shoes in America, and that we could not longer eat with our hands. In America we played indoors, and there weren’t any trees to climb. In your book. The first time that I heard a vacuum in America I leaped on my bed to get away from it.
Thank you for writing your book and telling our story.